


Breakfast

by Nezumimurasaki



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Jam, John is a vampire, Sherlock is a werewolf, Vampire!John, Werewolf!Sherlock, wolflock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nezumimurasaki/pseuds/Nezumimurasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overall, living death has been kind to John Watson... but sometimes he misses the little things... Like a proper breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> John is a Vampire, Sherlock is a werewolf, genfic, but could be shippy if you squint. Unrepentant fluff.

John sat at the table, watching Sherlock nibble daintily at a piece of dry toast. He wasn’t even dunking it in his tea. It was a crime against breakfast. John didn't say anything. It seemed silly to. What did it matter what Sherlock ate, or how, so long as he wasn’t starving himself? But still… he couldn’t be getting any enjoyment out of it. Weren’t werewolves supposed to be possessed of vast appetites?    
There were plenty of things that bothered John about being a vampire. Headaches from going out in the sun too long, having to live off of the life’s blood of others, being only partially considered alive in the legal sense.  But there was one thing that he wished didn’t irk him so much, one gripe that he felt was so childish he kept it all to himself. He missed being able to eat a decent meal. He could stomach a few bites now and then, but more than that and his body rejected it completely.   
The thing he missed most was a long, leisurely breakfast. Bacon, eggs, and toast with mounds and mounds of strawberry jam.  God he missed jam. It was one of those foods he couldn’t take at all, a fact that had seriously upset him and still irked.   
Because of all this, he liked watching Sherlock eat. Well… when he actually allowed himself to really eat, which was incredibly rare.  “Aren’t you going to have more than that?” he asked as his flat mate surged to his feet, taking his mug with him and dumping his toast plate in the sink.  
“Whatever for? The toast was sufficient calories to last me for as long as is required.” He knew better than to tell John how long he expected to go on one dry slice of toast, but John figured he was hoping it would be all he would need that day.  
John shook his head. “Sherlock, that’s not good for you.”  
“It’s nowhere close to full moon. I can do as I like, diet-wise with no repercussion to anyone besides myself, thank you, John.” His tone was tart and he turned to leave, only to shift his gaze back to John and stare a moment with those keen silver eyes. “You’ve been using watching me eat as a substitute for the enjoyment you used to get out of it… interesting. Really john, do get a better hobby than that, it must be terribly frustrating for you.” And with that and a swish of dressing gown he was off to the sitting room to work on the current case.   
John placed his forehead against the cold tabletop and sighed. He really should have known better than to try and keep anything from that man… wolf…whatever. It was going to be a long night, he could already tell. He picked up his mug of blood and sipped at it, then made a face at the goopy texture. It had gone cold.

 

* * *

  
A few weeks later, he woke at the crack of dusk as was usual for him, and went trundling down the stairs to the kitchen for a warm mug of o-neg and the morning paper. He was surprised to find a parcel in red paper setting at his usual spot. He picked it up and read the attached note. “Have a decent breakfast – SH” he cocked his head and unwrapped the paper. Inside was a canning jar like you got preserves in. He looked at the label.  It read “Granny Sanguine’s Blood Jam, B Positive” with a picture of a white haired old lady with fangs below it.  
He cautiously opened it and was greeted with the scent of blood wafting up, with a slight sweet undercurrent. He put his pinky finger in and licked the stuff off of it. It was sweet, and tasted delicious. Not the faint memory of delicious that normal food had, but the wondrous deliciousness of a good fresh pull of blood.   
As he was marveling, Sherlock stole in and sat down oposite John, looking smug. He picked up the paper and cultivated an air of boredom. “So, you like it.” It wasn’t a question.   
“This stuff is brilliant! Where on earth did you find it?”  
"Made it myself… well, Molly made the label…” he grimaced in a way that said precisely what he thought of that nonsense. “It’s not even B positive, John. She just thought it was a “cuter” name than O Negative, even though told her that O negetive is the only type you ever seem to drink." He rolled his eyes and went back to the paper.  
John chuckled and warmed himself a cup of his usual and sat down to what felt like the most complete and perfect breakfast he had had in years. Even if he had to eat his jam with a spoon rather than on toast.


End file.
